WE ARE ( NOT ) THE WALKING DEAD !

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 on his eyes, makes it difficult at first to keep them, hand in front of them to shield them and make the sudden awakening more bearable. His injured leg hurts, but his back and neck aren’t in better shape — what else did he expect, sleeping on the ground, guarded only by the gravestone of the woman he loved? Judging by the quiet around and the height of the sun, it was early still. It was better that way, he didn’t want the whole community to know he slept on Andrea’s grave.    « Don’t worry, I should have been already up anyway. »    He got up, not without some difficulties for his aching body.    « Is there something you need? »

« 𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃, for so long out there? »    Besides the point of knowing her story for a matter of safety ( they’re strangers and he’s letting them in ; he has to be sure it won’t come to bite his ass later on ) he’s truly curious about this new group. People have come and gone, since the end of the conflict with the saviors — not many have intrigued the leader as much as Magna and her group, though. Surviving out there for so long, Rick’s not sure he could have managed.

❛  𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎  ❜  ----  stomach shrinks and twists,   a tight knot is soon formed around vocal cords     ❛      too many to count      ❜      

        she continues,   hazels once and again finding Rick’s features,  although she makes sure she’s not caught in the process.      ❛      i don’t want to go through that again,   i’m not sure if i could handle it,   at least not in the way you and your friends do it    ❜  

☣.•°*  THLEADR ┆ “ sc

     alexandria is quiet for now, but the gunsmith knows better than to let that be a comfort. it’s a gift as well as a curse. a gift in that she can think in peace, a curse in that —— if there was someone lurking, she didn’t know. eyes shut for a moment, breathing stalled as she clips in a piece to the weapon she worked on. alex is tired, beyond exhausted and yet she persists. it’s not a good thing to be up this late, but she can’t pull herself away. the silence is broken by distinct footsteps, they’re familiar and carry weight. she tries not to laugh but she doesn’t face them, she can see the figure reflected in the metal.  ❛  ——— rick,  ❜  she smirks a bit, head shaking slightly,  ❛  shouldn’t  you  be  asleep ?  ❜  //  @thleadr: sc.

𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏  𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓  𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄  𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘  𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 ; long gone are the days he would come home, tired from work, and sleep through the night with his wife beside him and the worries of any other man in his mind. Those worries — bills, work, money — it all seems stupid now, through the lenses of the years and the events since he woke up in that hospital. Now his worries are about keeping that place safe, the people safe, against outside threats. 

( Only one thing hasn’t changed, that he still feels tired. )

      when   a   person      has  spent   so  much  time   on  their  own,   as   happy   as  she  possibly  is,   there  is   complete  apprehension .   appreciation  to  be   let  in,   feet  in  place  even  as  his  hand  lifts  to  take  hold  of  the  fence,   she  finds  herself  stuck  in  place  before  her  head  is  shaking .   ❛   no–   ❜   and  to  somehow   prove  that,   hannah’s  fingers  pull  the  sleeves  of  her  arms  off and  put   unblemished  skin   on  display   ( not  that   that   would  prove   much ) .   ❛   i’ve  just–   i’ve  been  alone  for  a   while .   ❜   sentence   unnecessary,   finally  she  finds  one  foot  taking  a  step  forward,   eyes  meeting  those  of  the  stranger  before  her  filled  with  nothing  but  a   plea  for  help .   not   usually   one  to   beg,   hannah  has  to   stop  herself   from  getting  down  on  her  knees .     ❛   i  only  have  a   knife,   you  can   have  it .   and  my  bag,   anything  else  you  want  to   look  over,   it’s  yours .   my  name  is   hannah .   ❜

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 . ◟ 𝐓𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐑

        ❝  𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊    𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓!    𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄    𝐘𝐎𝐔   𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄,  ❞  negan  presses  himself  against  the  metal  bars  to  his  cell,  face  settling  in-between  two  of  them.  they’re  cold  to  the  touch  with  the  approaching  night,  but  the  male  doesn’t  seem  to  care,  expression  staying  unreadable.

        ❝  i’d  say  i’ve  been  quite  good.  watching  my  language.  making  sure  i  eat  all  my  greens.  so,  what  i’m  asking,  is  if  you,  or,  one  of  the  lovely  ladies  of  alexandria,  could  cut  this  mop  off  of  my  head.  and  the  beard  could  use  a  trim  too,  if  you’re  feeling  generous.  ❞

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂  𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐈𝐒  𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘  𝐎𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 ; just a light push and he’d be out in the light, the other in the darkness behind bars. As it should be, as it’s been since the end of that stupid conflict. And yet.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐎𝐍𝐄 always got him, in the end. 

( Perhaps he saw his own son in this boy, both the child before and the one that was shaped by this world, the one who put a bullet in a man’s body with tears running down his cheeks and the one who had nearly as much blood on his hands as his father did. Who knew. Curse this world and all that came with it ).

Bloody hand holding the steering wheel but there’s no motion to turn the key and start the engine — and yet he should hurry, the night is upon them, Alexandria is still far. A different reaction is what he expected ; a naive belief that what the boy witnessed moments before was the worst he had to see — shame and sorrow alike taking hold of him, a boy alone in this world must have endured even worse. How naive of him to think otherwise. Hope otherwise.